


Agahan

by lonalawa (fumate)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 13:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14978396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fumate/pseuds/lonalawa
Summary: This is how your deepest scars were carved; this is how the wounds made way to your heart. Under Pete. On gloomy nights.





	Agahan

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction made solely for fun and I gain no profit from this. ~~I was just drowning too deep in my feels when I wrote this lmao how can this be real~~.
> 
> Since English isn't my first language, I'm aware there might be grammar mistakes here and there. Corrections are welcome!
> 
>  **Agahan** : [v.]  _hurriedly doing something without it being thought through_.

It always started like this:

Pete will come to you on a gloomy night, when the sky was empty and darkness hung like a painted terrible fate. He will say, I need your help Patrick I can't get the words out at all my head's been so empty lately. You know it's a lie. You know Pete can spill words like taking a dump. You know Pete's head never stop racing (it's a nonstop race of loathe and spite and self-pity there) and yet you let him in all the same.

Pete will ask for your company, and you'll agree. You'll sit beside him. You'll tell yourself there won't be anything more than this—an enjoyable silence as he soaked in your presence and start dripping inked thoughts, maybe a couple chit-chats here and there. You believe it. You'll force yourself to believe it.

But Pete is a man of many needs and he can't be satisfied just by your mere companion. Pete needs more. He demands more. Pete will quench his thirst by biting your lip like a bee trying to get nectar, and he will trace the lines of your jaw with his tongue, and he will patch up his scars by bruising your thighs instead. Truth is, you enjoyed it. Heavens know you enjoyed it. But you have conscience (you don't know if Pete always turns his off before he comes to you) and it's always blowing your insides as if your heart is a punchbag.

Pete will kiss your forehead, so tender that you always melt, and he will caress your cheek. His ring shines. It's golden, twenty carats, you picked it for him, but you don't have yours. It isn't yours. Pete was never yours to begin with.

This isn't right, that's how you always plead.

We're a pair of anomalies, he will laugh. Nothing was ever right between us.

You will hate yourself then. Coward. You're a fucking coward. You want to stop this but you don't. You don't want to stop this and you don't. You love him; ever since he was the notorious Arma Angelus Pete Wentz and you were just a drummer nobody remember about. You loved him back then, with cartoon heart eyes, screaming his lyrics back to him, sixteen and full of stupid crush. You still love him now, with aching head and barely beating heart, eyes unfocused, twenty three and full of guilt and stomach churn. Isn't that why all of this happened? You loved him, you love him, but you never had the chance. Only in nights like these you can devote yourself to him. Only in gloomy nights Pete is yours to worship.

Pete has a heart full of love, sometimes too full of it he flooded the wrong person with it, sometimes too full of it to sluice it to only one person. He was made to love. He was born to be a downpour of affection. And yet. And yet he can't love you with that heart. And yet he can't just drown you in his sea of affections even though you're starving for it.

Pete will peck every joints of your fingers, mouth easy with a joyous grin. He will thank you. You're a great friend, Patrick.

You're my greatest best friend.

You always had the urge; to spit on him, to punch him, to tear him apart viciously like he always does with you. (And what's the matter if it's not his intention? You're still hurt. Pete's a fucking grown man. He should know how to fucking act like one.) That urge will swell inside you, suffocate you, it will eat you up with every second you lay together but you could never act on it. You know why. You don't want to know but you do know why.

Pete doesn't just tell people they're his greatest friend. Pete flirts with many people, everyone. He shares _I love you_ s with strangers easily, but he's a spider. He weaves a web of lies through it. He's sincere (Pete is always sincere and loyal to everyone that are willing to listen) but what is the use of sincerity when you're handing out plastic roses?

Pete's I love yous are pamphlets; his you're my greatest best friend is not. Pete doesn't let people in his life easily. He has a lot of guests, ones that laugh with him when your band achieved yet another first chart or whatever, but few actually stay through. Few became close to him. Fewer he held close to him.

None ever been told they're his greatest best friend.

You will be desperate. You always are. You'll climb him and like a burning gas truck you will kiss him. He will paint a smile and carve a wound in your heart with it. His every breath is your every regret. He will huff out your name, he will suck your throat, he will strip you down to your bone just by looking deep at you. Pete's eyes are brown, soft and clouded with fuzzy sorries he never told you.

Pete will write, something about tempest in a teacup or a heat that kicks you down your throat, but it's much, much, much later. You will write of electric temptation, but it's also much later. For now you will blame God. You don't understand how you can fit so naturally to him. You don't understand how you both curl up and complete each other like Yin and Yang. You don't understand how you're compatible with Pete in every aspect, complementing each other in every way possible, but still you're not his and he's not yours. A fitting pair of puzzle pieces yet you weren't made for each other.

You crumble every night beneath his touch. Under his fingertips you're a blinding supernova. His words scorch you. His confessions are the code to your explosion. You're dying with such a beauty it makes him even more ecstatic to destroy you, to light you up and see how bright will you burn. Under Pete you're a supernova on your way to become a nebula.

This is your destruction.

 

 

And this is your rebirth.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos or reviews would be marvelous. Also, come talk to me about this wonderful, painful pair! Poke me at [twitter](https://twitter.com/fumatekir), I'm lonely lmao.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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